


And Miles To Go

by Eastmava



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Kissing, LET THESE POOR BOYS SLEEP, M/M, Pining, tiredness, with art!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 19:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11675145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastmava/pseuds/Eastmava
Summary: "He could cancel the meeting, sit back down and rest his head on the mattress again, their fingers curled together. Better still he could slot himself into the empty space on the bed; it’s small, just a few spare inches of bed, but he could make himself fit. He’s so tired, all he wants is to sleep. All he wants is to lay down.All he wants is to stay here, beside Kylo, until he wakes, and then say all those things he should’ve said months ago. "After the events of Starkiller all Hux wants is to sleep.





	And Miles To Go

**Author's Note:**

> This work was entirely inspired by the stunning art of goldengarter on Tumblr. They posted a beautiful piece and were kind enough to let me write something based on it. Please be sure to go visit them on Tumblr and tell them how talented they are.
> 
> http://goldengarter.tumblr.com/image/163609927408
> 
> I am going to try to embed the picture in the work, but if that fails, make sure to go check out the link!
> 
> This work is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

It’s with Starkiller rending open beneath his feet, every step unsteadier than the last as the planet heaves its dying breaths, that Hux thinks of his mother.

  
He has so few memories of her, more just impressions of red hair and fierce hugs and wet kisses, a burst of warmth like he feels on the rare occasion he takes a moment to breathe deep and close his eyes and turn his face to the sun; the sun which is dead now, blotted out by his own orders, the very earth he stumbles on torn apart by the force of the sun he destroyed.

  
Hux really only has one clear memory of her, and as the ground trembles under the tread of his boot, sending him falling to his knees, and he gasps for what could very well be his last breath, the air knocked out of him by his fall, it seems fitting that his thoughts turn to her.

  
_“My little Armie,” she sing-songs, voice high and lilting, his small hand caught in her larger one. They’re walking through the overgrown gardens, some of the plants taller than him since the near constant fall of rain means they can so rarely be tended to and grow so quickly. The stone path she’s leading him along is pock marked with puddles of muddy water and his pants are damp up to his knees._

 _  
_ _He toddles along beside her, too busy staring up at her smiling face to watch where he’s going, and doesn’t notice when his foot hits loose, slippery rock until he’s falling, his hand twisting out of her loose grasp and he’s on the ground. She’s at his side instantly, worry on her face as she crouches down beside him. He doesn’t say anything at first, too startled by the fall, until he looks at the torn knee of his pants and sees the blood, already running pink down his leg with the falling rain._

 _  
_ _He wails._

 _  
_ _“It’s alright. It’s ok,” she soothes, and pulls him close._

 _  
_ _“Hurts,” he whimpers into her shoulder, and she runs her hands over his hair, bends down and kisses his knee._

 _  
_ _“I’m sorry, darling,” she says, wiping the tears from his eyes, although what’s tears and what’s rain is hard to tell. “I’m so sorry, my little boy. But mama kissed it better.” She lets him cry and when his sniffles finally run out she helps pull him to his feet. His tears start again as soon as his leg is straight, the gash pulling and smarting. He buries his face against her belly, twists his hands in her flour-stained skirt while she rubs his back and mutters soothing nonsense to him. “I know it hurts, Armie, but we have to go back and you’re too big for me to carry now. Can you walk back to the house for mama? Can you do that?”_

 _  
_ _He sniffles again but lets go of her skirts, nods. “Yes,” he whimpers out, and rubs his stuffed up nose on his sleeve._

 _  
_ _“My brave boy,” she praises him, a hand on his shoulder. “One step at a time. C’mon,” she coaxes as he takes a shaky step. “That’s it. My brave little Armie. Once we get back to the house you’ll take a nice hot bath to warm up, and then bed. Everything will be better in the morning after a good night’s sleep.”_

 _  
_ _“Promise?” He asks, voice watery with tears._

 _  
_ _“I promise, my love,” she says. “Now come on, one step at a time. One foot in front of the other.”_

  
“One step at a time,” Hux tells himself, and heaves his body up off the ground, eyes on the tracker in his hand, the blinking dot moving ever closer as he forces himself to take it one step at a time.

Between the falling snow and the fierce wind that has broken his hair free of its gel and whips it in front of his face he almost trips over Ren when he finally reaches him, his vision is so impaired. “Ren!” He shouts, but the winds pulls the words away and it sounds barely more than a whisper as he crouches down. Ren is still alive, but barely, his eyes glassy and unfocused. His stomach roils at the sight of all the blood. He forces himself to look away, to work his hands under Ren’s prone form to pull him upward, first until he’s sitting and then, after careful taps to his uninjured cheek, Ren groaning as awareness and pain flood his system, to his feet.

“I can’t,” Ren says weakly, head lolling forward and body sagging against Hux’s as he settles Ren’s arm around his shoulders, wraps his own around Ren’s side, careful of the still oozing blood. “Just leave me,” Ren begs, the words barely making it past his lips.

“Come on,” he urges, and doesn’t let himself think about how small and frail and weak and pale Ren looks, how the vicious wound on his face only highlights how boyish and young he is. “One step at a time,” he orders as they stagger forward. He can hear the hum of an engine and hope finally blooms in his chest when he realizes the transport shuttle isn’t far off. He coaxes them onward, and when Ren’s legs finally collapse beneath him Hux finds the strength to lift him, arms hooked under his knees as Ren slips to unconsciousness.

The lights of the shuttle cut through the trees and Hux almost whoops with joy. “We’re almost there,” he tells the body sagging in his arms. “Almost there,” he promises. “One step at a time. One foot in front of the other.” His boots clang against the metal of the ramp and he almost stumbles, catches himself with a shoulder against the durasteel walls and then someone is there with a gurney, taking Ren from him and getting him settled, wheeling him to the makeshift med bay until they reach the Finalizer and can get Ren transferred.

Hux stays propped up against the wall as they take off, lets himself be jostled and sway with the ship as they break through the hold of the planet’s gravity. Someone tells him of their estimated travel time before they rendezvous with the Finalizer and he nods, numb, unhearing, and as soon as they’ve gone slumps back against the wall.

The Finalizer will be in chaos. _The Order_ will be in chaos.

But there’s nothing to do but keep going.

One step at a time. One foot in front of the other.

Hux suddenly laughs, near hysterical, and has to hide his face against his shoulder to stifle the sound. His life has been shaped and dictated by the rules and expectations of his father and yet here, when he should by all rights be dead, lost with Starkiller, he is alive only because of the soft, kind words of his mother. Wherever Brendol Hux’s ghost is, Hux hopes desperately that he knows his disappointment of a son is still alive.

____

When they dock Ren is wheeled straight to MedBay. Hux walks down the ramp and is greeted by a group of his loyal officers. He demands a datapad, an update on casualties, and a conference room. “And someone get all the other Generals in the Order on a holocall.”

“Sir,” a lieutenant asks nervously. “Wouldn’t you like to rest first?”

He pauses, for just a second, closes his eyes. He would, so desperately. His body aches and his mind feels sluggish. Every time he blinks his eyes burn with grittiness and the taste of ash and blood and destruction lays heavy on his tongue. He would like, so very, very much, to rest.

“No,” he says curtly, and keeps walking. “No time. We must keep on. One foot in front of the other.” He pauses again with his hand on the sensor to the conference room. “Someone call for some caff,” he demands, then steps inside.

When he leaves the room almost a full day later tiredness has seeped into his very bones. He has yelled himself hoarse and drank so much caff that when he stops at the refresher his piss smells so acrid it makes his eyes water. But despite that the Order has a workable plan, a way to capitalize on the destruction of the Republic despite the loss of Starkiller, and miraculously, despite his failure, Hux still seems to hold the grudging respect of the other Generals.

He should go to his quarters, shower, rest. His clothes are stiff with sweat, the starched collar of his shirt gone limp and his always pristinely shined boots scuffed and muddy. His scalp itches and he needs to wash the grease from his hair, his now ruined hair hanging in stiff chunks where the gel hasn’t completely given up its hold and his face prickles with the beginnings of a beard. They’ve called a two hour break, just enough time for Hux to put himself to rights and grab a quick nap.

Instead he heads to medbay.

His datapad pinged hours ago with a notice that Ren had been removed from the bacta tanks and was now sleeping. Stable, but still under observation.

When he enters the room there’s a medroid whirring about, tending to an unconscious Ren. It beeps at him when he sits down in the only chair in the room then rolls out, leaving them alone. It’s the first time he’s been alone with Ren in months, ever since the night by the viewport where Ren had kissed him.

Hux had known. He has been accused of being many things in his life, but never a fool. It was impossible to miss how, the weeks leading up to that night, Ren would stand a little too close, their hands would brush when they walked, Ren’s fingers grazing ever so gently along the back of Hux’s gloved hand. Hux had known he needed to put a stop to it, but he hadn’t, had told himself it was harmless, that nothing would come of it. And if at night he comforted himself with thoughts of pulling Ren into bed with him, of falling asleep side by side and waking up with their bodies tangled it didn’t matter, because nothing would come of it.

And then, standing in front of a viewport as the galaxy passed by, Kylo had kissed him. Hux had shoved him away and tried not to think about the hurt in those dark eyes as he walked off without a word.

Because how could he explain that every time he watched Kylo board his ship to go off on a mission he may not return from Hux had to fight to keep from forbidding him to go and how could he hope to let Kylo walk up that ramp if they were more? That every time Kylo came back from training with Snoke with a limp in his step or unable to straighten fully because of bruised ribs Hux had to clamp down on treasonous thoughts about overthrowing Snoke, of seizing the Order for himself. So he had pushed Kylo away and thrown himself into the final planning of Starkiller.

Except now Starkiller is gone, and Kylo is only alive because Hux found the strength to carry on from a half forgotten memory of his mother.

Thinking of his mother reminds him of something else. He puts his hand on top of Kylo’s and squeezes it, then leans forward and touches a kiss to the stark white bandages that cover his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for everything. But I kissed it better.”

He squeezes his hand again, just to feel the warmth, wraps his finger around a pale wrist so he can feel the comforting throb of a pulse, and promises himself that when Kylo wakes up if he still want Hux, even though he’s now a failure, he won’t push him away this time. He lays his head on the mattress by Kylo’s hip and slips into sleep, where he dreams of walking in a garden with his mother.

____

“General, sir,” a hand on his shoulder and a hesitant voice rouses him. Hux mashes his face into the mattress for one second, sighs, and straightens with a groan. Lieutenant Mitaka steps back and pulls himself fully straight before hesitantly clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, General, but the meeting will start in fifteen minutes.”

“I know,” he grouses, and exhales noisily. He feels even more tired than before and he’s certain he looks even worse. And now he has to leave Ren, has to leave the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll be along shortly.”

Mitaka flushes at the praise, ducks his head in a quick nod. “Should I call for some caff to be delivered?”

The thought of drinking any more caff makes his stomach turn. No matter how much he may need it his body just can’t tolerate anymore of the bitter drink. “No, just some water.” Mitaka nods and turns. Once he’s gone Hux looks back to Kylo, his hand still on top of Kylo’s, and he slots their fingers together.

He could cancel the meeting, sit back down and rest his head on the mattress again, their fingers curled together. Better still he could slot himself into the empty space on the bed; it’s small, just a few spare inches of bed, but he could make himself fit. He’s so tired, all he wants is to sleep. All he wants is to lay down.

All he wants is to stay here, beside Kylo, until he wakes, and then say all those things he should’ve said months ago.

But he can’t, not now, not yet. There’s still too much to do.

He bends down, hesitates with his lips just inches from Kylo’s mouth. But this is not his to take, not yet. “Tonight,” he promises. To Kylo, to himself. Tonight. He brushes a kiss against Kylo’s temple instead, pushes straggly dark curls off of his face and his heart twitches when Kylo shifts into the touch. “Tonight,” he says again, with a final lingering stroke through Kylo’s hair.

  
He forces himself to leave. He tries not to focus on what he’s walking away from or what he’s walking to. He’ll deal with that when he gets there. Just puts one foot in front of the other, pushes himself to keep standing on his weary feet as he goes off to face the next task.

  
____

By the time he steps past the threshold into his quarters he’s so exhausted bright splashes of light are dancing across his vision, dark blurs keep moving in his peripheral but it’s been hours since he last had the energy to react to them. His steps drag and he almost stumbles over his own feet.

Hux begins to strip as soon as the door is closed. His greatcoat is long since shed, although he’s too tired to remember where it is. He’ll worry about it in the morning. His belt falls to the floor with a clang, his coat following behind it with a roll of his shoulders. His stiff fingers refused to work open the buttons on his shirt and he stares down at them, blinking and confused, before he shakes his head and tugs his gloves off with his teeth. Even free from the leather his fingers can’t push the buttons through their holes.

Hux drops his hands, defeated. He’s so tired.

“Let me help,” a voice breaks through the darkness of his quarters and Hux stumbles backward when a dark patch of shadow rises from his desk chair and reveals itself to be Ren. He’s saved from falling only by invisible hands catching him and steadying him.

His datapad had chirped at him during the meeting and when his blurry eyes had finally focused on the message it had been from medical, informing him that Ren had been released. It has seemed like a good omen, but as the day wore on with no promise of the meeting ending and a bright kernel of pain had settled right behind his eye Hux had accepted that his promise of ‘tonight’ would most likely be broken. By the time he had left the conference room the thought of facing Ren looking like he did, exhausted and drawn, with he wasn’t even sure anymore how many days stubble on his chin, his hair a greasy, unkempt mess, had been unthinkable.

And yet here Ren is, a fresh pink band of healing skin running down his face, still shiny and new, with his fingers working open Hux’s shirt, helping to push it off his arms. It takes a moment after the shirt is off, the cool air of his quarters crisp on his skin after days in the same sweat soaked, chafing shirt, for him to react. “Thank you,” he whispers, and turns to head to his refresher. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in durasteel walls on the walk back, he knows he looks a disaster.

“Hux, wait,” Kylo stops him with a hand to his side. He stops, his brain too sluggish to resist the command. They wait in silence and he’s just mustered the energy to walk again when, “What was her name?’

“Whose name?”

“The woman in your dream. Your mother?” Kylo guesses, and Hux suddenly finds the energy to wrench himself away.

“You were in my dreams?” He demands, his voice as close to a yell as it can be right now.

“I didn’t want to be!” Kylo says, voice cracking as he tries to reel Hux back to him. “Hux, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. But you were, you were holding my hand,” Ren stops to swallow, ducks his head but Hux can still see the red flush on the tips of his ears, poking through his hair. “You were touching me, and I slipped though. I couldn’t help it.” Kylo swallows a hiccuping sob, and Hux finds his anger drained. “Please,” he begs. “Don’t be angry with me.” Kylo steps up behind him, wraps his arms around Hux’s waist and pulls him tight, face tucked into the crook of Hux’s shoulder. “Please,” he asks again, softly.

Hux relaxes back against Kylo’s hold, turns to look at him and offers a smile. It’s small, exhausted, barely there, but Kylo’s arms loosen around him, not so desperate to hold him tight. He studies the man, his dark curls lank, the scar that makes his face no less handsome. And the delicate skin under his deep eyes, bruised with tiredness, just like his own.

It has been the memory of his mother’s words, coaxing him onward, keeping him upright and fighting, that had carried him through this. It is those words that had kept them both alive, gotten them to safety. But now, looking at Kylo, pressed close and so weary, he thinks of something else she said.

“Let’s go to bed,” he announces, still looking at Kylo. “There’s a lot to talk about, but it will be better after we get some sleep.” Kylo nods, drops his hold, and Hux is a few steps away when he realizes Kylo hasn’t moved. “Aren’t you coming?” He asks, and holds out a hand that Kylo takes.

They help each other undress, hands shaky with weariness and perhaps something else, before they collapse onto the too small bed. They face each other, legs tangled together, and with the last reserves of his energy Hux manages to flip a cover on top of them. They both smell, in desperate need of washing, and he thinks he may just take his sheets straight to the incinerator instead of trying to have them laundered, but aside from wrinkling his nose Hux doesn’t comment. The bed is too nice, Kylo’s skin warm against his own, the call of sleep too heady, for him to get up and wash.

A hand comes up, fingers stroking through his tangled hair, and he pushes into the touch.

"You’re not a failure,” Kylo says softly, and his eyes flutter open.

“You weren’t just in my dreams, then” he accuses, but there’s no venom in the words.

“You aren’t a failure,” Kylo repeats, insistent. “And of course I still want you.”

“I’m sorry. I never should’ve pushed you away. It was a mistake. Kylo, if I could-”

“Shh,” Kylo hushes him. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here now.” Hux props himself up on an elbow, determined to say what he needs, but Kylo tugs him down, settles his head on Hux’s chest."Sleep, Hux.” He sighs, head laying heavily on his pillow, and settles a hand on Kylo’s head. He’s right on the edge of sleep, eyes closed.

"Siobhan,” he whispers into the silence. “Her name was Siobhan.” Kylo hums but doesn’t say anything, his breath a warm, damp patch on Hux’s skin.

Hux dreams of walking in the gardens, rain slicking the ground, but this time when he stumbles the hand in his holds tight and pulls him up before he falls. He looks to his savior, but instead of the smiling face of his mother it’s Kylo. He wakes up, blinks his eyes twice in the darkness, pulls the weight of Kylo’s slumbering body even closer, and slides back into sleep.

~END

 

"And miles to go before I sleep"

       -Robert Frost

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Like all writers, I crave near constant validation, so if you liked what you just read please consider leaving a comment or a kudos.
> 
> Feel free to come say hi on Tumblr! Let's talk about how much these boys clearly need naps and cuddles.
> 
> cut-off-the-grain.tumblr.com


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